


The Thrush and The Raven

by Chtuluchilipie



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bilbo Has Issues, Declarations Of Love, Fluff and Angst, Lust, M/M, Ravens, Shapeshifting, Shifter AU, THRUSH, Thorin Has No Sense Of Direction, Thorin Is an Idiot, and rude at first, bagginshield, fluff and eventual smut, lots of misunderstandings, problematic thorin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-06 06:01:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4210716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chtuluchilipie/pseuds/Chtuluchilipie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo Baggins is considered an anomaly for various reasons: he is an only child, travels far too often to be completely respectable, is infuriatingly polite (even when he doesn't want to be), and can change the form of his body into whatever he wishes it be. Gandalf calls upon his old friend's son for the matter of another adventure, and Bilbo is willing to go, although he is hardly aware of the secrets his company keeps, or the problems that will be borne from it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Impervious Kings

**Author's Note:**

> I don't have much to comment on actually, other than my usual spiel; I hope you enjoy this story. Questions, comments, and kudos are extremely appreciated. Really, if you don't understand be sure to ask, I really enjoy hearing from you guys! The next chapter will be up two weeks from today, Friday, July 10th.  
> If you have any ideas about what should be added to this story, or any clever headcanons, don't hesitate to share, it just might be incorporated into the fic.

  
Bilbo Baggins was chosen to be the fourteenth member of Thorin Oakenshield's company for multiple reasons. The first being that Thorin had a strong distrust of anyone who was not his kin, which Gandalf sought to break him of. The second was that the company needed a burglar, and Bilbo Baggins, being a hobbit, was very spry on his feet and could often go unseen; making him excellent burglar material. The third reason was that before Bilbo's mother Belladonna had passed, Gandalf had promised to take her son on an adventure someday, and Gandalf intended to make good on that promise, since promises were a very serious matter to wizards. The last reason was that Bilbo Baggins was very peculiar, in the manner that he was capable of feats that most peoples of middle earth weren't.   
  
To be blunt; Bilbo could change the form of his body when it pleased him.  
  
It wasn't unheard of for some people to take on the form of animals, if they pleased, but there were often limitations to it. Some hobbits might be able to transform into rabbits, if they chose, some elves could often take on the form of deer or elk if they fancied the idea, dwarfs took on the form of mountain goats on occasion, and humans might be able to become wolves or bears, rarely of course, since they weren’t quite so magical as the other beings of Arda. Yet Bilbo, since he was a very extraordinary hobbit, could take on the form of many animals of his choosing.   
  
Sometimes he was a rabbit, and oftentimes he was a mouse, in some instances he was a wolf, yet his preferred form, secondary to being a hobbit of course, was when he was a songbird. To be specific; a thrush. There was something particularly freeing about being a bird, and fairly often Bilbo took on the form, much more often than any of the others. In fact, the more he was a bird, the more he found several traits of his bird self carrying over. Which he didn't mind one bit, and quite liked himself that way.  
  
The day Gandalf paused by his garden, Bilbo had looked up with a strong exasperation, already about to have a headache. It was well known that The Wandering Wizard only led to two things; meddlesome behavior and trouble. Gandalf liked to meddle, and it was said that that was what the wizard did best. He meddled in anything and everything that he could. He meddled with politics, he meddled with disputes, he meddled with people, he meddled with lives, he meddled with people's hearts more often than not, and with that, came trouble. Gandalf himself was nothing but trouble.   
  
Bilbo knew that quite well, and he wasn't keen on getting dragged into another meddlesome affair. So when the wizard looked down at Bilbo expectantly, Bilbo scowled up at him.  
  
"What is it this time Gandalf?" He asked crossly, puffing on his pipe in anger, still quite put out from his last interaction with the wizard. (Which was completely sensical, after all. The endeavor was quite upsetting.)  
  
Gandalf gave a hearty chuckle. "To think I would be greeted by Belladonna Took's son as if I were a troublemaker. Interesting times indeed."   
  
Bilbo was not moved. "Ha! Troublemaker indeed! I have not forgotten the incident in which I had been nearly eaten, Gandalf. Nor have I forgotten that the entire incident was completely your fault."   
  
Gandalf's lips turned downwards, and the wizard slumped, in a complete full-bodied frown. "I have apologized for that, Bilbo Baggins. And the quest was done only with the best intentions." He sniffed, waiting a moment to add; "besides, if it makes you feel better you should know that thanks to your efforts that group of bandits has been duly punished."  
  
Bilbo huffed, feeling his resolve crumble. Damn the conniving wizard. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he sighed. "A–alright. I'll hear you out."  
  
Gandalf beamed, the offended look from his face vanishing immediately. Bilbo scowled and put his pipe back in his mouth, puffing away to soothe his already frazzled nerves. Cursing himself to caving so easily, he opened his door and motioned for the wizard to follow, muttering to himself about dratted wizards and their tricks. The wizard sat in the man-sized chair in Bilbo's parlor, patiently waiting for the hobbit to emerge from the kitchen with the usual treats he brought. He placed the assortments down, and sat back in his armchair, looking up at Gandalf and glaring fiercely.  
  
"Where am I going and what am I fetching?" He demanded. "I am not going on another 'adventure' without knowledge of the risks. So tell me, and tell me now, Gandalf, or you shall have to find yourself another hobbit."   
  
Gandalf leaned back in his chair and began his tale, using his usual way with words to sway Bilbo, as the hobbit had always loved stories, even if he scowled and said he didn't wish to hear them.   
  


* * *

  
  
Bilbo had spent an entire day working away in the kitchen, preparing for a feast that would satisfy fourteen hobbits, let alone thirteen dwarfs and a wizard. He made pies, and lots of them. Blackberry pies, cherry pies, apple pies, shepherd's pies, beef pies, and even chicken pot pies. He baked sweet-bread and covered it in honey, or slathered it in butter, and oftentimes ate them before he set them out for dinner. He peeled quite a lot of potatoes, and prepared them in all sorts of ways. He fried them, he baked them, he mashed then. He removed the innards of tomatoes and turned them into a sauce for dipping, the remnants were filled with beef and goat cheese and baked. He baked sweet potatoes with garlic and cherry tomatoes, topping them with salt and spices. He made several large loafs of bread and stuffed them with cheese and surprise bits of tomato to expand in flavor. Even if he changed his mind about this adventure, he was adamant on treating his guests right, and having his culinary skills remembered.   
  
He emptied out his first pantry, and made plans to empty out the smaller second the next morning for breakfast, and for travel. Bilbo would be damned if he was dragged on a long adventure with dwarfs without a single treat or two for himself.  
  
He was finishing up his fish frying, and adding the finishing touches to his delicious spread when he heard a very steady repetition of knocks at his door. Feeling cheerful, he opened the door and bowed his head to the two dwarfs on the stoop competing for space. "Bilbo Baggins, son of Belladonna and Bungo, at your service."  
  
The two stopped their bickering and turned to him with mischievous grins. "Fíli," the first one said, the shorter of the two, with gleaming golden hair and a very fanciful braided mustache. "And Kíli," The second added, a stark contrast to his brother in appearance. Whereas the first was golden, the second had dark chocolate hair and light stubble adorning his cheeks, undoubtedly the younger then.   
  
"At your service." They chorused together bowing to him and grinning.   
  
Then, the second dwarf– Kíli, pushed past Bilbo and looked around the house. "Where is everyone? Has it been canceled?"  
  
Fíli gave Bilbo a suspicious look, eyeing him with a challenging sort of look, and the hobbit rolled his eyes. "No! Nothing's been canceled, just settle down, have a pint and wait for your kin." They looked relieved at that, and Fíli did mutter that he was relieved, then they all but dashed into Bilbo's dinning room, about to serve themselves when Bilbo tutted loudly and took their plates away.   
  
"I said a _pint_ , not a _plate_ , mind you. Wait for your companions. It is rude to eat without everyone present."  
  
Fíli looked confused by the custom, and Kíli visibly sulked, which was quickly relieved when Bilbo passed them both a cookie and a cup of honey-mead each. Honestly, the two were just like children.   
  
When the rest of the dwarfs came, they did not seem too pleased about being made to wait, especially the rotund one. Bombur stared dreamily at the steaming platters in front of him, and begrudgingly waited until the leader of their company at last arrived. The moment two heavy knocks came upon the door, they all dug in, passing around plates and cutlery in a haste. Bilbo sighed and went to answer the door, Gandalf trailing behind him. He opened the door, and was greeted with the sight of a tall, magnificent and brooding dwarf.   
  
Bilbo found his breath quite stuck in his throat. Clearing it with a high pitched squeaking sound that was awfully embarrassing, he bowed his head to the dwarf, hoping his red cheeks weren't entirely too noticeable. "Ah, Bilbo Baggins, son of Belladonna and Bungo… at your service."   
  
The dwarf was…  
Sinfully gorgeous. There was no other way of putting it. His hair was dark, almost jet in the dim lighting, falling down over his shoulder in long cascading waves. He was tall, and rather stately in manner, imposing in a way that only true royalty could be. He cut a rather fine figure, Bilbo would soon be loathe to admit, and he carried himself with an air that stated his inflated views of immense self importance. Despite his status as (exiled) king of the longbeards, his beard was cropped extremely short (at least for a dwarf, no less a longbeard), and the sight of it, as well as the knowledge that he had most likely shorn it, made Bilbo's heart ache. He was rather handsome, (that went without dispute) but what caught Bilbo's attention wasn't his fine jaw or regal nose or magnificent brow, or even the way that he carried himself with strength. It was his eyes, crystalline and pure. An untouched serene blue unlike any Bilbo had ever seen. He could scarce describe the color, and would never find any words to do it any amount of justice.   
  
Bilbo realized with a jolt that he had been staring at Thorin for quite some time, and he cleared his throat  in embarrassment. Bilbo shifted his weight and cleared his throat again, and stuttered to speak when he realized Thorin would not introduce himself. "Ah forgive me if I'm wrong, but if my assumptions are correct, you are King-In-Exile, Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain." It was phrased and spoken like a question, but was done without intention, as it wasn't really a question.   
  
The dwarf looked down at him haughtily but did not comment, looking unimpressed that Bilbo knew his name and title. Shifting his weight, Bilbo looked down and away. "Just down the hall there is food and drink, should you like any. And, to your right is where you can place your belongings. I have only seven guest rooms, one of which has been reserved for Gandalf, and I assume you can divide the rest amongst your companions."   
  
Thorin did not offer so much as a thank you, or a greeting or so much as a grunt of acknowledgement. He bowed his head, but only so he could step inside the smial, stepping into Bilbo's space and forcing the hobbit to move out of discomfort. Removing his heavy cloak and furs, he cast a glare at Gandalf.   
  
"I thought you said this place would be easy to find," he accused. "I would not have found it all if not for that mark upon the door."   
  
"And a fine door it was too, painted just a week ago and ruined again, by another adventure Gandalf is dragging me off to." Bilbo muttered bitterly to himself, mood darkening at the lack of thanks he had received, this time so far, or his last (mis)adventure with the dratted wizard.  
  
Thorin turned to him, face deadpan and impassive, which _really_ shouldn’t have made Bilbo’s heart clench the way it did.  "Is there a problem? If you cannot join us on our venture, now would be the time to say so, halfling. We shall endeavor with or without you, so do make up your mind, and do it quickly."   
  
Bilbo blanched, eyes narrowing, and face flushing in anger. He did not appreciate the lack of thanks, or the blatant lack of respect from Thorin. If it were the lack of propriety and thanks, there wouldn’t have been an issue. But he would not stand for being challenged and insulted in his own home. He was a hobbit, not a halfling. He wasn't half of anything, and he didn't appreciate being referred to in that manner. Mood darkening, Bilbo clenched his hands into fists, breathing heavily to hold in his breath. Smiling sweetly, he blinked up at the dwarf.

  
"No, I should think not, Master Dwarf. I already agreed to join your company, and I am as good as my word." Bilbo hissed politely in a deceptively sweet tone.  
  
The dwarf exhaled angrily and took a step closer to the hobbit, quickly catching onto his passive-aggressive front.  "There is no shame in backing out while you can. My companions will not judge you for accepting what you cannot do."   
  
The "but I will" was implied, and the knowledge of it made something dark and angry curl around Bilbo's heart, and he suddenly wanted to slap the dwarf across the face. Bilbo raised an eyebrow, poised to make a rebuttal, drawing himself up taller and taking a step towards the dwarf angrily, mouth opening to spew boundless insults and curses that would have made Thorin blush.  
  
Then Kíli came bounding into the room, holding up a chicken leg and grinning. Delighted, he called out. "Thorin!" And greeted the king-in-exile, embracing him tightly. Then the two dark haired dwarfs turned into the dining room, Gandalf following after, leaving Bilbo to wonder what had just happened and consider why he was angry in the first place.  
  


  
****


	2. Shaking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He was not an ill-disposed young man, unless to be rather cold hearted, and rather selfish, is to be ill-disposed: but he was, in general, well respected; for he conducted himself with propriety in the discharge of his ordinary duties." (1.7)  
> —Jane Austen, Sense and Sensibility

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much to really say for this chapter, except that I'm sorry about the length. Thus far my chapters haven't been very long, and to make it up to you fantastic readers I will most likely post chapter three on Wednesday, July 15. I hope you'll like the new installment, it was quite fun to write. Also, you might've noticed that this is 18 chapter fic, it might end up a wee bit shorter, since I merged together my plans for chapters five and six into chapter four, which I cannot wait to edit and post. 
> 
> Anyway, let me know what you think. Comments, kudos, questions and feedback is much appreciated. I love to hear from you guys.

  
  
If Bilbo did not know any better, he would say that Thorin was determined to make him as miserable as possible. The King-In-Exile loathed him. There was no other explanation for the blatant disregard and belittlement. Every word he said to Bilbo was a backhanded comment, a thinly veiled insult, a clear display of putting Bilbo in his place. No matter what Bilbo did, the king made no move to accept him. His manner did not improve in the slightest,and he was steadfast in his derision of the hobbit.  
  
When Bilbo had woken an hour early to make the dwarfs a very hearty breakfast, despite going to bed an hour late to prepare for his trip, Thorin had only snorted and commented on the poor quality of the bacon, which had been burnt due to Bilbo's frazzled nerves. When Bilbo had gotten them out of an random and unnecessary taxing by some impetuous hobbit with a superiority complex, Thorin refused to acknowledge it altogether. When Bilbo had foraged together some chanterelle mushrooms, which were considered a delicacy within the Shire, Thorin had sneered at him and said dwarfs did not eat the same food as pointy-eared "tree-fuckers".   
  
Thorin did not let him help with anything either. When evening fell, Thorin assigned tasks for all members of the company except for Bilbo. Everyone was hurrying about in a tizzy,setting about completing their tasks in a mannerly amount of time. More than once, Bilbo had attempted to help, but had only gotten in the way, which often resulted in a sharp reprimand from Thorin, and a loss of appetite. On several nights, before they had even left the Shire, Bilbo curled up on his bedroll (which was always a ways apart from the rest of the company), nibbling on his chanterelles, forgoing the dinner Bombur had prepared.   
  
Thorin was always snapping at him, reprimanding him, scolding and infantilizing him whenever he could. It drove Bilbo mad to no end. More than anything he wanted to slap the dwarf in the face, and demand an apology, but he wouldn't. He was a Baggins of Bag-end. He would keep his temper. Baggins did not hit others in fits of rage. Even if the offenders were rude dwarfs who was quite mean.  
  
"I'm telling you, Thorin, if we camp here not only will we have a fitful sleep, we will wake up exhausted and… feeling strange." Bilbo insisted, walking quickly next to Thorin as he yelled orders at the company.  
  
Thorin didn't so much as look at him.  
  
"Master Thorin! Really, I'm quite serious! This is no joking manner. Things will not end well if we are to rest here."  
  
Thorin sat down, and looked down at his map, not even bothering to tell Bilbo to bugger off. Face burning in frustration, Bilbo walked away, muttering curses underneath his breath as he sat at the center of the camp,  where the fire would be.  
His heart pounded sideways in his chest, his skin itched, stretching and sweating strangely. His chest expanded, and more than anything he had an urge to run far from this place, as quickly as he could. He stared dazedly into the fire, feeling hot and cold at all once, body aching beneath his sweltering skin.  
  
"Are you alright, Bilbo?" Bofur asked, concernedly looking over at him, throwing a log into the fire. "You look uncomfortable." Bofur was one of the few dwarfs who were remotely civil to him, the rest seemed quite content to ignore him.  
  
Bilbo froze, as realization dawned on him. The only reason that he was more snappish than usual was that he hadn't shifted in weeks, at least not since Gandalf had paid him a visit. Slowly, Bilbo shook his head. "Not really, although I think I'll be better soon. But thank you for asking, Bofur, I think you're the only one here who cares for my well being besides myself." He muttered darkly, mood blackening into something dangerous.  
  
Bofur gasped. " That's not true! We all care about you. You've been nothing but a pal to us."   
  
Bilbo snorted. "I've hardly even spoken to any of you."   
  
"No, I really mean it. You're important to this quest. To us. I don't have to talk to you for hours to know that."  
  
Bilbo raised an eyebrow and cast a glance towards Thorin, who was brooding off a ways from the fire, in the darkening edge of the wood.  
  
"Even him, Bilbo." Bofur said, patting him on the back. "You matter a good deal."   
  
Bilbo rolled his eyes, but returned the pat, giving Bofur a smile, ignoring the ache in his chest, and the burning in his eyes.   
  
"Now, if you don't mind me asking, why do you think we shouldn't sleep here for the night?"   
  
Bilbo chewed on his lower lip. "Ah, well. It's a bit of hobbit superstition. We're close to the Old Forest. And it's the sort of place that you're not supposed to be close to. Strange things occur in these lands…"Clearing his throat, he added; "These trees, this forest is remarkably ancient. And if magic lingers anywhere, it is certainly within this place."   
  
Magic did linger there, but Bilbo did not make mention of it. Nor did he mention that he had been born in that strange place, and had wandered in it far too many times for his own good.  
  
Bofur nodded knowledgeably, and set more firewood in the center of the camp, stepping back as Gloin set it ablaze. "Oh we have tales like that too. Deep down in the mountains, things sleep. Things as old as the world itself. We know to not venture too deep into mountains, for fear of those sleeping things. Which are best to be left that way." Scratching his chin, Bofur cast a sidelong glance at Bilbo. "I'm quite surprised Thorin didn't listen to you. He knows quite a bit about of Ancient Things."  
  
Nearby, Dwalin raised an eyebrow. "Ancient Things? Why such dark talk before bed?" He asked, crossing his arms.  
  
"Bilbo here was just explaining to me that these forests have their own type of ancient things, and I explained to him the ones in the mountain."  
  
"Ooooo." Fíli and Kíli chorused in ghostly voices, waving their fingers at Bilbo, making the hobbit flinch and look down.  
  
"Ancient things are no joke." Thorin said, glaring across the fire at Bilbo.   
  
"You say that as if you've seen one." Bilbo said, hoping to annoy Thorin. Spook him into a stupor that would ruin his sleep, so he would at least think that Bilbo was right.   
  
"You know nothing of the world." Thorin growled, face darkening and mouth settling into a snarl. His face looked twisted, angry and primal.Animalistic, almost. Thorin muttered something angrily underneath his breath, standing and turning away. Bilbo felt the color slip from his face, and he looked down, wishing that he hadn't let Gandalf talk him into this. Wishing that  he had stayed in Bag-End, running around in his garden as a rabbit or perhaps fluttering from tree-to-tree as a bird. Wishing that he had the strength to stand up to Thorin. Wishing that he hadn't been born in the Old Forest.  
  
"Don't pay any mind to him, laddie." Balin said, sitting over on Bilbo's left. "He saw things he shouldn't have, dark things at far too young an age. It's changed him."  
  
"Contrary to what you may think, my dear Bilbo, you and Thorin are far more alike than you should think." Gandalf said.  
  
And for Bilbo, that was the last straw.   
  
"Ha! The notion that I've anything in common with that brooding, narcissistic, rude and demeaning pile of rubbish is laughable! I am nothing like Thorin Oakenshield and I am quite glad for it! He is the most horrid creature I have ever encountered and thus far, I am regretting stepping outside my door, contracts and agreements be damned!"  
  
The entire company looked at him in varying degrees of shock, and Bilbo huffed in his rage, skin itching furiously and heart pounding. He stood from his spot but the fire and settled near the edge of the wood, burrowing into his coat, sweating and trembling in the near-stillness of the night, completely unaware of the Raven that sat in the tree, staring down at him until he fell asleep.  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Btw, if you're bored, check out my bagginshield blog,every now and i again I make mention of aus I'd like to write, or even show sneak peeks of upcoming chapters or oneshots. 
> 
>  
> 
> [Chtuluchilipie](http://chtuluchilipie.tumblr.com)


	3. Honor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And I could only stand by, helpless and mute, the cause of it all. The keeper of a secret so terrible it made me afraid to speak, scared that it would pour out of me like kerosene, burning everyone." (3.8)  
> — Libba Bray, A Great and Terrible Beauty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The strange thing about this work, is that even though I am exceptionally proud of it, I usually don't have much to say. I quite enjoyed writing and editing this chapter, but the next most likely won't be up until Friday, July 31st. The next chapter might be up anywhere from July 24th to the 31st, since I've lost a fair amount of momentum in my writing, and I like to have finished editing up to two chapters after I post a new chapter, if that makes any sense.   
> Basically what I'm trying to say is that I like to have two chapters finished and ready to go after I post a new one, so just in case I'm unable to write, or if something comes up, I still am able to make regular updates. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you'll enjoy this new installment as much as I did.

Usually when  Bilbo woke, it was to a loud camp, the dwarfs boisterous and cheery, pushing each other around and whistling joyful tunes, smiling widely and laughing loudly. Usually Bombur hummed while he gathered breakfast, and often Dwalin shared some ridiculous story or another, typically there were jokes being thrown about, insults passed back and forth in a friendly manner, a constant hum of morning banter. There was laughing, and smiling and cheer.  
  
This morning was nothing like that.   
  
The dwarfs were near-silent and solemn, going about their morning chores with a degree of somber seriousness that Bilbo found begetting of a funeral. They were pale and stretched, with harried faces and long shadows beneath their eyes. No one spoke much beyond the necessary, and when they did, they spoke in hurried whispers and responded with quiet grunts. They were a vexed bunch, and seemed to be in quite a great hurry to leave the place. It was cold, colder than it should have been with the sun as high as it was. The grounds were covered in a thin layer of dust, and fog oozed from the treeline. The entire morning was eerie, and Bilbo wasn't the only one who seemed discomforted by it. The company was packed up, standing by their ponies, shifting uneasily and ready to go—silently begging to. Bilbo watched, realizing that they were waiting for something, or rather someone.  
  
After a quarter hour of waiting, Thorin emerged from the treeline, and Bilbo almost commented on the wait out of bitterness, but the look on Thorin's face stayed his words. Thorin looked the most grim of them all, though he seemed to be making an effort not to let it show. His shoulders were bunched up, his body tense and rigid with nerves, like a hunted animal anticipating attack. The shadows beneath his eyes were the longest, and when they set off, leaving behind that horrid place, the shadows lingered beneath Thorin's eyes, and the haunt of the night previous didn't leave them for a while still.  
  
The group stayed quiet until lunch was sorted out, which had been served astride their mounts, due to the time they'd already lost. Bilbo rode at the very back, determined to steer clear of Thorin, especially since he was sure the King-In-Exile had overheard his rant the night before. Yet Thorin carried on the way he usually would, ignoring him for the majority of the day, only acknowledging him to yell for him hurry along.  
  
Bilbo chewed on his chanterelles, and ate some blackberries afterwards, cringing at the taste, as it wasn't a very palatable match. Kíli looked over at him with curiosity, and changed his pace to ride next to the hobbit. Bilbo looked at him warily, expecting him to say something about his outburst. All day, he had expected it. It actually unnerved him that no one had so far, he had insulted their leader and king after all.  
  
But instead of berating him or any of the various things Bilbo expected, he looked at Bilbo's hands and the chanterelles he held. "What're those?" He asked, looking baffled that Bilbo was eating them.   
  
"Chanterelles."  
  
Kíli gave him a horrified look like he'd said "pig shit" or anything along the lines of that unpleasant sort. Stifling a chuckle, Bilbo shook his head and held out one for Kíli to touch.  
  
"Mushrooms." He explained, placing one in the young dwarf's hand.(And wasn't that a funny thought. Kíli was actually half a decade older than Bilbo, as Hobbits aged faster than Dwarfs, even the strange ones like Bilbo that lived especially longer.)  
  
Bilbo ate one, and Kíli watched with obvious fascination and mild disgust. Looking nervous , Kíli chewed the chanterelle quickly, nose wrinkled and eyes narrowed. He swallowed, and his face relaxed, looking back over to Bilbo with surprise. "That actually wasn't so bad." He muttered, scratching at his jaw. "Could I try another?"  
  
Bilbo nodded, feeling strangely proud, and gifted Kíli a handful, giddy to share his treat. After a while, Bilbo explained to Kíli what mushrooms were, and how they were grown. Kíli was very chagrined at discovering that mushrooms were "green things", even though Bilbo spent half an hour explaining how that wasn't the case. Fíli, who had been hovering nearby during this interaction laughed at his brother and teased him relentlessly for eating "elf food".   
  
"Actually, it's more of a hobbit food than anything…"Bilbo muttered, but that did nothing to dispel Kíli's protests or Fíli's snickers. Despite their carrying on, Bilbo found them a very amusing pair, joyful and innocent in heart. They warmed him, and loosened him up, and for the time in a long while, Bilbo found himself comfortable in the presence of others.  
  
"Bilbo, if you don't mind me asking," Fíli began, looking over at the hobbit slowly. "Did you really mean it? What you said last night?"  
  
Bilbo's stomach clenched and his heart froze. "Which part?" He asked quietly, noticing the company had fallen silent, undoubtedly listening in.  
  
"Do you regret joining us?" Fíli asked, looking carefully at him.  
  
Bilbo exhaled deeply and shrugged a shoulder, looking ahead. "In all truth, I am not sure. There have been certain…unfavorable events that I had hoped to avoid, but I cannot say that it is all bad. If you mean to ask if I am enjoying myself, the answer is no, I am not. I would much rather be in my smial, resting by my hearth or in my garden breezing the day away. But, I have given my word, and if a Baggins is good at one thing, it is keeping their word. Even if I wanted to turn back, I said I wouldn't, I am bound, and for that, I will stay. I have no plans to abandon you, and I have no desire to do so."  
  
They accepted his words, and fell into conversation again, leaving Bilbo with his tortuous thoughts. They rode on endlessly, Thorin fully intent on reaching Bree by nightfall. It seemed he recognized the dark nature of the Old Forest, and knew now to heed Bilbo's advice, even if he still refused to acknowledge it.   
  
It begins to rain heavily, thick and cold droplets splattering on them at ludicrous speed, so that the group became soaked within a matter of moments. The company expressed their great displeasure at the turn of the weather, primarily Dori, who sulked from beneath his purple hooded cloak and glared at Gandalf.  
  
"Can't you do something about this deluge?" He demanded, shifting on his horse and staring angrily into the rain.  
  
"Master Dori, it is raining and it will continue to rain until the rain is done. If you wish to change the ways of the world you should find yourself another wizard." Gandalf suggested, a heavy air of ill humor to his voice, seeming about as displeased about the weather as anyone else.   
  
"Speaking of," Bilbo said, looking up at Gandalf. "How is dear Radagast?"  
  
"Same as ever, I suppose. Still prattling off to wild animals and consuming far too many of the wrong kind of mushrooms." Gandalf chuckled.  
  
Kíli turned to Bilbo, looking alarmed. "There's a wrong kind of mushrooms?" He asked, voice tight.  
  
"Oh yes, of course there are." Gandalf supplied. "They will addle your brain and yellow your teeth should you indulge yourself far too often. That's why they should be consumed in rarity and collected by someone who knows entirely what they're doing."  
  
Kíli did not look comforted. "B-Bilbo, are the mushrooms we ate okay? I don't want to get stupid." He whimpered, sounding very afraid and very worried.   
  
Fíli snorted, muttering quietly that mushrooms most likely couldn't do him any far worse, considering how stupid he was to begin with. Kíli opened his mouth in a rebuttal, but Thorin halted travel, and turned his pony around, riding straight for Bilbo. Staring down at him, the king sneered.   
  
"You dare to feed my sister sons poisonous elf food?" He demanded, voice rumbling and eyebrows set in a terrifying sort of frown.  
  
"I didn't do anything!" Bilbo squeaked. "I had been eating chanterelles and Kíli asked to try and well, I, er, I gave him some and he ate them. I didn't force feed him!" He cried desperately. "He ate them voluntarily."  
  
"So you admit that you have attempted to poison my heirs?"  
  
Bilbo's face heated up, pointy ears bright red in anger. "I haven't tried to poison anyone, Thorin! I merely shared a batch of perfectly harmless mushrooms with Kíli."   
  
Thorin glared down at him with disdain, and cast his heavy gaze into his nephew. "Is this true?"  
  
Kíli nodded, glaring at his uncle. "Bilbo didn't do anything." He said, almost accusingly.   
  
Thorin didn't rise to the bait, he merely shot Kíli a look that had the young dwarf looking down and away, cheeks coloring with shame. Thorin turned on his horse, riding again to the front of the company, barking out a single perfunctory "Carry on."   
  
They ride onwards, and the company resorted to chatting in quiet subdued tones, instead of their usual raucous shouting and laughing. Fíli tried dragging Bilbo back into a conversation, and Bofur gave him a small understanding smile, and Bilbo was very much grateful for the comforts they tried to grant him, but he found next to nothing was able to lure him of his dark mood.  
  
It was dark by the time they reached Bree, and the rain had picked up again, leaving Bilbo to feel very waterlogged and very much miserable. There was an issue at the gate, thanks to another prejudiced man that wanted to unnecessarily tax the dwarfs for entrance, Bilbo vouched for them and their character, as the Baggins name still carried some weight, even this far out of the Shire. He even managed to earn his companions a reduced price at the Prancing Pony, thanks to his clever way with words. The dwarfs were all very much pleased about this. Except for Thorin, who snorted and ignored him, same as ever.  
  
Bifur, although usually quiet around Bilbo, gripped the hobbit tightly and kissed both his cheeks, dancing him around for a minute before passing him to Bofur and so on. It took quite a bit of time before Bilbo was able to sneak off upstairs for a warm bath, a change of clothes and a much desired rest. He muttered a goodnight to Gandalf, as well as Fíli and Kíli, not missing the suspicious narrowing of Thorin's eyes when he crept up the rickety stairs and down into his room.   
  
The warm bath was very welcoming, and Bilbo sunk back into the suds without a single amount of grace, leaning back into the small tub, sighing as he worked out the knots in his muscles. He rolled his fingers over his skin, hushing the animals within; working extra hard to quieten his wolf. The beast paced in his heart, anxiously whining, snarling, howling even. It was upset, demanding upon its release, something it hadn't done for nearly four years. Usually it slept, or growled at threats, typically quiet and content. But something had stirred it up, and it had no intents of lying back down anytime soon.   
  
Bilbo's skin itched and burned, aching for release, but Bilbo forced his wolf back, apologizing to it immediately afterwards, promising to let it free in a week or so. The wolf only whined, on edge, nudging for Bilbo to let it out, so they could be safe, because something bad was nearby. Bilbo chewed on his lip nervously, wondering about what it was that had stirred his wolf into such a ruckus.   
  
Besides the wolf, which was the loudest of late, Bilbo's thrush was stretching its wings, holding its song off, yearning to fly. It had been silent of late, which Bilbo recognized as very bad. The thrush was only silent in times of great duress, and to encounter it so early in the quest was alarming to say the least. It almost always sang, voice clear and high, it's musical tones ebbing into Bilbo's voice when he laughed or smiled. It only sung when he was happy, and if he cared to notice, it hadn't sung since he'd left for this quest.   
  
His rabbit, was also very very afraid. It wanted Bilbo to let it take over, to run far away right this instant. It trembled in Bilbo's heart, anxiously looking out for a threat Bilbo couldn't recognize. It sat there, frozen and terrified, wanting nothing more than to escape.   
  
His soul was in a stir, and no matter his thoughts, the animals within his heart knew something was coming.  
  
He crawled into bed, not bothering to put his sleep clothes on or even his smalls, huddling up into a small ball of blankets and linen, shushing the animals within his heart, lulling them into sleep. The wolf whined, but curled up, staring off into the night with no small amount of trepidation, ears going backwards in fear and unease when it sensed the predator walking past the hobbit's room.   
  
When Bilbo awoke, the wolf was distraught, pacing back and forth, clawing at Bilbo's skin, yipping and yowling. The others were quiet as the wolf whined, begging for release, giving long complaining cries to end its confinement. Bilbo's skin was itching again, burning and stretching as the wolf cried for its freedom, and no hushes Bilbo gave would calm it. He was half feral already, as the wolf  wasn't asking for release anymore, it was taking, and Bilbo felt guilty that he's pushed it to this point.   
  
Bilbo writhed on his bed, trying to keep the beast at bay, sweating as he forced his body to stay in his hobbit form. His senses sharpened, and from the other side of the door, he could smell another's presence. He lifted his nose in the air and inhaled, the scent of fire, metal, stone and Thorin smacking him in the face. He had to bite his lip, resisting the urge to snarl.   
  
There was a knock on the door, heavy and foreboding, and Bilbo very nearly growled, the wolf barely hanging back, snapping its jaws and growling. The knock came again, and Bilbo blinked, pushing the wolf back and answering the door rather breathlessly.   
  
"Yes?" He panted, voice low and rough from being so close to letting the wolf free.  
  
Thorin glared down at him, nose curling upwards in a snarl. "We're leaving within the next three hours. I suggest you prepare yourself, we have no qualms against leaving you behind."   
  
Perhaps in this moment, if Bilbo weren't so feral, so close to shifting, he would have noticed the breathlessness in Thorin's voice, or perhaps the slight coloring of his cheeks, or even the dark look in his eyes when he looked Bilbo up and down. Sadly, as it were, Bilbo looked at Thorin and only saw a threat, so he glared up at the dwarf, fingers curling around the doorway, leaving behind small gouges from his elongated nails.

  
Bilbo seethed. "Ah, yes. I wouldn't put it past the honorable Thorin Oakenshield to break his word and leave a member of his company behind." He spat mockingly, the wolf growling beneath his words.  
  
Thorin narrowed his eyes, and a low sound similar to a growl vibrated from his chest as he took a step closer to Bilbo. "My word means nothing when it comes to a tasteless and soft creatures lacking any form of honor." He snapped,dark eyes locking on Bilbo's.  
  
Bilbo took a step closer as well, letting the anger and beastliness of his wolf egg him on, despite his typical pacifying nature. "You do not know a single thing about me. You know nothing of my honor, or my name. You insist that I am a useless burden, when I haven't seen a single sign of actual use from your presence. Your only service to this quest has been to bark orders, and belittle and snarl. You insult me for my lack of honor when I have yet to see any from you."   
  
"Honor? What does a soft little helpless halfling of the Shire know of honor? I have lived the span of your petty life twice over, and yet you think you know of honor—"  
  
"Uncle! Uncle, Fíli just started a bet over would win in a fight of hand-to-hand combat, you or Dwalin. Now, I don't mean to be unfair but–" Kíli cut himself off, the easy grin melting off his face as his brown eyes flickered back and forth between his uncle and the hobbit. His face fell, shifting into an expression of confusion and embarrassment. "Uhh. Bilbo? Why are you naked?"   
  
Bilbo flushed in horror, and let out a high-pitched sound of shock and embarrassment. He took a step back from Thorin, whose eyes were suddenly clear blue again, and slammed the door of his room, locking it and leaning back against it, heart thudding in a staccato that seemed very loud.  
  
He sighed, ignoring his wolf as it howled, displeased upon being so close to its release and forced back into his heart. He dressed quickly, ignoring the burning and stretching of his skin, brushed the hair on his feet and gathered up his belongings, meeting the company downstairs for a much needed breakfast. Thorin ignored him, but if his cheeks pinkened when the hobbit fixed him with a horrible glare, no one dared to comment.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHAT'RE THOSE????
> 
> In reference to: " But instead of berating him or any of the various things Bilbo expected, he looked at Bilbo's hands and the chanterelles he held. "What're those?" He asked, looking baffled that Bilbo was eating them. "
> 
> sorry. I had to. I noticed it while editing and couldn't help myself.


	4. Engarde

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "But they could only whisper. A faint, pale sound, no more than a soft breath, was all they could utter."(22.264) —Philip Pullman, Amber Spyglass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit strange, although I did enjoy writing it. Though, from here on out, if all goes according to plan, things tend to get a bit dark.
> 
> Side note: it was suggested to me that I explain the nature of Bilbo's relationship with his animals.
> 
> Basically,Bilbo's animals are all parts of Bilbo, but independent and different forms of his conscious self. In a manner of speaking, they are different versions of his soul. They are all Bilbo, but not Bilbo is not them. They are pieces of what makes up Bilbo, or rather what makes up Bilbo's soul.Bilbo himself is a smaller piece of a large soul, and his animals are different pieces of it that he has access to.
> 
> If you need any further explanations or if you have any more questions, go ahead and ask.

Despite what his loved ones say, Thorin Oakenshield does not sulk, he does not brood. He stews over problems, he thinks and he considers. He does not sulk. Sulking is unbefitting of a king, and Thorin is a king in all manners. He positively does not sulk. So when Dwalin rose up next to him and accused him of doing so, it was only natural that he felt a very strong urge to lunge at his closest friend and pummel him senseless. But when he grumbled this underneath his breath, all Dwalin did was laugh.   
  
It was their third day back on the road when Dwalin brought it up a second time.   
"You're sulking." He accused, sitting down next to Thorin and raising an eyebrow. "Why?"    
  
"I do not sulk." Thorin growled, fixing him with the infamous Line of Durin Glare. Sadly, it did nothing to deter Dwalin, who stared at him blankly. Thorin grunted and stood, moving to a different spot, on a very low, but quite large stone. Much to Thorin's displeasure, Dwalin followed after him, refusing to drop the topic, despite Thorin's obvious discomforts.  
  
"Aye, you're sulking Thorin. And ye have to be soft in the head to think I haven't noticed. Ye might think yer pulling one over on everyone else, but me? I'm no fool. I know you."  
  
Thorin neglected to dignify that with a response, glaring off into the fire at the center of the camp. Absolutely not looking at Bilbo, or anyone for that matter  
  
"It's about the burglar, isn't it?" Dwalin said quietly, almost as if Thorin was ashamed, voice lowered in concern.   
  
Why would it even be about the burglar? Why couldn't Dwalin just leave it be? He didn’t want to talk about it, especially if Baggins was involved. Truthfully, there was something about the burglar that grated on his nerves, raised his hackles. He did not trust the burglar, and he doubted that he ever would. It was nothing more, nothing less. And if Dwalin wanted to see as it something beyond such, that was his own fault. Thorin couldn't really help it if he stared at the burglar in suspicion, the hobbit wasn't to be trusted. Something about him made Thorin… Twitch. Itch. Ache.   
  
The hobbit's mere existence seemed to set him off, made him uncomfortable, angry almost. He loathed to see the hobbit around. His unnaturally cheerful smile, his lean calves, his bright hazel eyes… It only made sense that it would make his heart pound furiously in his chest whenever he saw the hobbit interact with another one of the dwarfs. There was no telling what his motives were. For all they knew, the hobbit was a skilled assassin, hired by the elves to sabotage their quest, to slit throats in the night, or otherwise lead them astray and into destruction.   
  
No, Thorin did not trust that despicable little hobbit. With his pudgy stomach, and his twinkling eyes, and his sleep-mussed morning curls, and his bright roguish grins… Especially when they were turned on one of Thorin's dwarrows, like it was now.   
  
Thorin glared as Bilbo leaned further into Kíli's side, smiling sleepily at the dark haired dwarf, yawning and blinking slowly. Then, he jolted, as if suddenly awake, and excitedly looked over to Kíli, pulling something from his pocket. Something that glinted in the firelight. Sharp and shiny. A blade.   
  
Thorin's heart pounded, and all conscious thought was pushed away,instinct driving him forward. He lunged for the hobbit, knocking him straight to the ground.  
The hobbit gasped underneath him, hazel eyes wide and fearful, mouth open in frozen terror. Thorin gripped tightly onto him, left hand sneaking into the burglar's pocket, grappling onto the knife… Except it wasn't a knife at all. Thorin pulled away from the hobbit, blood rushing to his face as he contemplated the object in his hand. A jagged, but dull piece of mirror, glazed in some places, a crude childlike drawing of a child next to their parents engraved in. In the top righthand corner, in extraordinary penmanship, there was a named etched in.

  
_Bilbo._  
  
Thorin felt his heart thud painfully in his chest, guilt ebbing at his insides. He looked down at Bilbo, still sprawled onto the hard campground, the pupils of his eyes devouring his irises, leaving behind a thin sliver of his hazel coloring. He was breathing heavily, tawny curls falling into his face as he stared up at Thorin, panting softly. Thorin swallowed, feeling his throat go completely dry.  
  
"Ah, Master Burglar—" Thorin began, meaning to apologize, explain himself.  
  
But the hobbit jumped to his feet, stepping close to Thorin, leaning upwards to stare at him in the face. "How dare you?" He hissed, taking a step closer to Thorin,snatching the mirror back and shoving it into his pocket, face bright red in anger.   
  
Thorin huffed, refusing to back down from the small and fuming hobbit presented in front of him. "There was no harm intended, nor any harm done. I had spotted the mirror in your hand, thinking it a blade."  
  
"So you thought I was going to assault your nephew?" Bilbo summarized, gritting his teeth and glaring up at Thorin. "You still don't trust me, do you? I have given you no reason not to, Your Majesty," he spat, the title feeling more like an insult that anything, punching Thorin right in the gut. "I have neither betrayed nor harmed you, or any of your kin! I have been as loyal, and not perhaps as hardworking as any member of this company, but that is because you refused to give me the opportunity to do so!"  
  
Thorin took a step into the hobbit's space, puffing up angrily. "Despite what you may think, I have no reason to trust you. Besides the word of a wizard who uses the peoples of Middle Earth for his own gain, the good of the realm." He snorted mockingly. "I have no reason to trust you whatsoever. You haven't done a single thing to prove your loyalty to his quest. To me."  
  
And what a strange choice of words that was, Thorin thought to himself half a moment later. Why should it matter so much that the hobbit was loyal to him? He had just said and thought to himself that he didn't trust the hobbit, most likely never would, so why should the hobbit's thought of him matter so much? Why did he place so much value in the opinions of a practical stranger?   
  
Bilbo guffawed. "I just said! You, have not given me a single change to prove myself! All you seem to do is mock me, convince me that my words are worthless, taunt me for being different! And it's because I'm different that you need me, do not forget that, you prideful fool. You need me. I can turn back any moment–"  
  
"Then turn back." Thorin snapped. "Turn back and leave this instant. We do not need you quite so much as you think. Leave and do not turn back. Run to the family that you fit so well into, lest not even they can stand you, for your constant complaining—"  
  
Thorin heard the slap more than he felt it. A sharp sound of flesh striking flesh. It was shock, he knew. He blinked, focusing on the pain radiating from the left side of his face. There was an extra sting, a burn that shouldn't have been there. Thorin touched his bearded cheek, shock curling in his stomach when he drew it back and saw blood on his fingertips. He looked down at the burglar, eyes widening as he saw the hobbit's disarrayed state. The pupils had eaten his eyes whole, making the hobbit appear feral, animalistic, deadly and freakish. His lips were upturned in a snarl, teeth oddly sharp, nostrils flared. Thorin looked down the hobbit's hands, unsurprised to see that his nails had elongated into sharp and potentially dangerous claws.   
  
"Can someone please explain to me what's going on?" Fíli asked somewhere from behind Thorin. Thorin felt his blood curdle as Bilbo snarled, all sense of hobbit propriety fading from his face. The hobbit was feral, half-changed, right in the middle of shifting his body into that of a wolf's. Thorin's heart thudded painfully, his own wolf snarling in response to Bilbo's. Internally, he cursed Gandalf for not telling him sooner that Bilbo was like him, that he was one whose soul was filled with animals demanding to be released. The wizard had hinted at it, but as always, was remarkably vague. Hindsight, was startlingly clear.  
  
Before Bilbo could respond to the shocked dwarfs, and possibly harm them, Thorin charged him, pressing him into the ground, and fixing him with a fierce glare.   
  
This was not the place to shift. This was not the place to become one of the wolf. Thorin stared down at the hissing hobbit beneath him, silently pleading for him to stave it off, hold the wolf at bay. Thorin did not know Bilbo in his wolf state, he did not know if he was violent or malevolent, if he was placid and submissive, and besides from that,he could already feel his own inner wolf stirring, scratching just beneath the surface of his skin.

* * *

  
  
Bilbo hissed in anger, and took a sharp intake of breath as Thorin knocked him into the ground. He growled,snarled and scratched, yelling foul curses in his mother tongue, enraged and foul, undoubtedly wild. He bit Thorin's hand, and pulled on his braids, back arching as he struggled to fight.  
  
Bilbo felt like he was burning as the wolf fought him from his insides, howling in a rage,forcing Bilbo back as much as it could, sensing the wolf beneath Thorin's skin. It growled angrily, heart beating in a thudding rhythm of "I was right. I was right." Bilbo, or perhaps it's half wolf-half Bilbo at this point, hissed up at the dwarf pressed against him. His skin was flaming, and his animals were screaming.  
  
 **Fight. Fight. Defend. Fight. Rip his throat out. Kill.** The wolf goaded him on, urging him to step back, to let it take full reign.   
  
**No more pain. Fight. Fight. Fight. Kill. Kill it now. Do it.**   
  
Thorin turned his head to down look at him, and growled back, pressing him further into the ground, pinching his neck. Bilbo wailed, and he was angrier, arching off the ground to fight back, to hit and wreck and ruin. It was a dominancy tactic, Thorin was trying to take hold of him, to establish his dominance over Bilbo. But Bilbo wouldn't step down, he wouldn't stop fighting. He would not submit, not to him.  
  
Somewhere in the back of his mind he was aware of the dwarfs panicking from behind Thorin. Kíli's alarmed shouts blending into Dori's yells about evil and Balin's attempts to placate his comrades.  
  
Thorin looked him deep in the eye as Bilbo thrashed beneath him.  
"Stop." He muttered, voice a low growl, and then a scent smacks Bilbo in the face.  
  
 _Metal. Stone. Fire. Oak. Musk. And–oh…_   
  
He inhaled deeply.   
  
_Thorin._  
  
And suddenly the wolf was near silent and very confused. Bilbo was just as shocked, just as  dismayed as the wolf within him. His instincts had completely switched, taking on an unexpected edge that had all of Bilbo, even the beasts within him, stirring in excitement and fear. The wolf was no longer urging him to fight, instead, it was begging him to mate.   
  
And then he was all too aware of this. All of this. Of Thorin pressed over him, breathing deeply, warm breath ghosting over Bilbo's face. Of his splayed legs, and Thorin's precarious placement between them, and worst of all—the gorgeous mass of Thorin on top of him. The weight of Thorin was heavy and lovely and delicious and sinfully erotic. He suddenly wanted very badly, more than anything, to rut against Thorin. To roll his hips and see what delicious rumbles and moans he could procure. To lick that face and claim those lips, and mate and fuck and scream in ecstasy.  
  
He was disgusted by himself, by the savage creatures in his heart urging him to spread his legs further and beg Thorin to take him. Bilbo whimpered very suddenly, and crawled from underneath Thorin, body aching and missing the heat of the dwarf. He swallowed  
his would-be tears, and backed away from Thorin, from the dwarfs staring at him in shock.   
  
He ran.   
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Expect an update on Friday, August 7th.  
> Let me know what you think, or what you expect to happen next. Feedback is appreciated.  
> Also, don't hesitate to ask questions if you don't understand something, or if you're curious about where this story is headed. Just go for it.


	5. Affliction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do not go gentle into that good night,  
> Old age should burn and rage at close of day;  
> Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
> 
> Though wise men at their end know dark is right,  
> Because their words had forked no lightning they  
> Do not go gentle into that good night.
> 
> Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright  
> Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,  
> Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
> 
> —Dylan Thomas, Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhh what do you mean I'm posting this 61 days late? ha ha ha......  
> I am deeply sorry to have taken so long to get this chapter out, and in all truth I don't even feel like explaining it all right now. Anywho, sorry about taking 2 months and for the short length. I'm going to try to get my crap back together.

It was Thorin who was left in the aftermath.  
The company asked him all sorts of questions, looking to him in their confusion, expecting him to know what had happened and why. He was just as helpless, just as confused and shocked. He didn't know either.   
  
When is Bilbo coming back?  
 _I don't know._  
  
Is Bilbo coming back?  
 ** _I don't know._**  
  
What happened to him?  
 _He changed._  
  
Thorin, what is he?  
 _Something else._  
  
What're we going to do?  
 _We continue on. We reclaim our home._  
  
Should we go back for him?   
_We can't._  
  
Why not?  
 _We **can't.**_  
  
They had waited for him, until they could wait no longer. He never came. The woods were dead and silent, not a whit came from them. No birds aflutter, no chirping of small woodland creatures, it was eerily silent. Often,  Thorin felt heavy eyes peering at him from behind the trees, yet when he crossed the tree line, there was no one. Their hobbit was as good as gone. Thorin stopped answering the questions, it was not long thereafter that his company stopped asking.  
  
There were long moments of aching silence where he thought about him, what happened. It's strange how a hobbit he barely knew, didn't like at all, was occupying all central thought. When it rained he thought about Master Baggins, how he was quiet about his discontent, sulking quietly. When it was sunny, he thought about Master Baggins and the way he tilted his head back to absorb the sun, a smile on his face. When he ate he thought of Master Baggins. When he slept, he dreamt about Master Baggins. Always, always, he thought of the hobbit.  
  
There was a particular dream that haunted him, where the hobbit stood before him, and his eyes burned. His eyes were burning and golden while he stared at Thorin, and in them Thorin saw a bird, a rabbit, a wolf. And something more. Animalistic and ancient, making his chest twist in fear and awe.  
  
Then he would wake, with a pounding heart and half formed tears bristling at the corner of his eyes. Sweat poured down his back and across his brow, hairs sticking to his face, feeling strangely aware of the world around him.   
  
If his dwarrows made notice of his shaking hands or the bags underneath his eyes, they did not mention it. Or maybe they did. Their words were blended into an intermediary roar that Thorin didn't care to hear.  
There was a dull throb behind his eyes, an ache that wouldn't go.   
  
There was another dream. This one was water. Thorin was knee-deep and searching for the hobbit, and the water kept pushing at him, pushing him away from where he knew Bilbo was. Eventually he would give in and let the current take him, but by the time he found Bilbo, he was a thin and limp figure. A skeleton struggling for breath, and then he died, the strange glow from his eyes fading as Thorin clutched onto him desperately, begging him to stay. When Thorin woke, he would pull his furs tighter over his shoulders and sit closer to the fire, though nothing could push away the chill in his chest.  
  
In truth he thought the hobbit to have abandoned them. More than once Baggins had expressed that he'd no wish to on a quest that was verging on suicidal. He saw his opportunity and he took it. Thorin couldn't blame him for it. His own kin hadn't wanted to join this venture, had blatantly said no, he couldn't fault a stranger for changing his mind and doing the same.   
  
Exhaustion edged at Thorin, crawling just beneath the surface of his skin. He felt strangely empty, barren and gone. He knew his dwarrows worried about him, he could see it in their eyes, he could smell it in their sweat. He wanted to tell them that all was well. That worrying was unnecessary. Yet, he wouldn't lie to them. They were good, honorable dwarfs. They at least deserved the truth.  
  
They continued onwards, trudging through the marshes and the weather hills with a heavy solemnity, weighting upon their shoulders. Thorin stopped talking altogether, he was wearied, his tongue heavy in his mouth like lead, unable to move. He had neither the will nor the energy to bother using it. Though he was more than aware of the worrisome glances his dwarrows exchanged.  
  
One morning he found himself unable to move from his bedroll, tears flowing from his eyes as Dwalin hefted him up and carried the brunt of his weight. Thorin found his body heavy and immobile, and something dark clawed at his heart, leaving him aching and bare. He craved for something he had forgotten. His days muddled together aimlessly, hours/minutes/days/weeks. The passage was too fluid, too rapid and Thorin tried to slow it, to stop the muddled passage of his thoughts, but it was never to of any use.   
  
Thorin dreamt.   
  
It was dark, isolated, the air was cold and damp, and the world clung to his sides. A light flashed above him, and feather light kisses ran over his skin, stirring a warmth from his chest. He opened his eyes, and there was pale white gold, hovering over him. Eyes emerged from the depths of it, a steely blue that hardened into earthly brown and a luminescent green rimmed with yellow at the center, the pupil shrinking into a thin slit, the eyes closing as he was pulled closer. 

He didn't wake.

 ****  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, questions, kudos? Go for it.


	6. Where He Went

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhh it's 5 minutes until 1 am, and I haven't done my homework or actually looked over this yet..... So if there's any issues or anything don't worry, I'm going to go back and actually revise this in the morning. Sorry for not answering any questions or comments from last chapter, things have been kinda hectic for me rn. Anyways, let me know what you think, if you see any horrible errors go ahead and point them out. This chapter is somewhere around 3300 words, and I hope you all will enjoy it.
> 
> Plus, it took me an hour just to find some words in sindarin for like one sentence, but if there's anyone who actually knows alot about sindarin and wants to tell me if i went wrong or anything, go ahead and do it.

 

There was a steady thrum of feet padding against the earth, dull, repetitive thuds that echoed in time to his heartbeat. There was something strangely appealing about running in his wolf form, relaxing almost. It came as a second nature to him, so natural and flawless he was unaware of it while doing it—much like breathing. His four feet moved in sync, in a pattern he would be unable to understand, were he still a hobbit. Bilbo sat in the back of his mind, content in letting the wolf take the reins, resting patiently amongst his animals. He didn’t know where he was running, only that he was. The world was dull in sight, but the other senses more than made up for it. Sharp scents smacked his nose, and unexplainable knowledge sat in his heart. The wolf didn’t know where they were going either, but that didn’t stop him from continuing on.

After a great number of days, of which Bilbo had no measure, he awoke in a small forest alongside a great river, bare as the day he was born. Rather annoyed that he’d left his clothes and pack and supplies goodness knew where, he stood from the warm earth and briefly considered shifting into his thrush, who was much more sensible than his wolf. Foregoing the idea, Bilbo followed the river down a steep hill, trying to shake off the sense of familiarity that tugged at his brain. His heart thudded sideways in his chest, and his body was strangely hot and cold at the same time. Chills erupted on the surface of his skin as he collapsed, heaving up the contents of his stomach, spots dancing at the corner of his eyes. The hobbit went closer to the river, and splashed his face repeatedly with the frigid water, wanting his mind to stir and snap from the heavy stupor that blanketed it. He vomited again, hands shaking as he wiped the remains of it from his lips.

The sound of the underbrush rustling grabbed his attention, and the hobbit sharply glanced over to the side, relaxing at the sight of a tall dark haired elf looking down upon him. Elves were extremely light on their feet, and would only be heard amongst the trees if they wished to make their presence known. That the elf had made herself known was an immediate relief to Bilbo’s quaking heart. The elf wore light brownish armor that looked bronze to Bilbo, but likely wasn’t. There was a blade strapped to her waist, still sheathed, and a boy attached to his back. Bilbo eyed the sword wearily, hoping that this elf was familiar with the existence of hobbits, as not all were.

“Lanc periannath?”(Naked hobbit?) The elf intoned, looking mildly mystified by Bilbo’s appearance.

“Excuse me, master elf, but would you mind telling me where I am?” Bilbo asked, ignoring the question.

The elf’s causal stance shifted into a stiff posture, and her strange grey eyes flitted over Bilbo’s face for a moment, before answering, “You are in Lord Elrond’s domain, the Valley of Imladris.”

Bilbo heaved a sigh of relief and shook his head. Of course, of course. It was suddenly crystal clear as to why his wolf had ran here of all places. Around his heart, the wolf whined and nudged at him, begging in the only way it could. Stomach tight, and still fairly woozy, the hobbit stood from his spot, knees buckling. The elf shot forwards gracefully, bent her knees and caught Bilbo with ease, concern etched into her flawless face.

“How might I be of help?” She asked, this time in common.

“Take me to see Lord Elrond,” Bilbo answered unflinchingly, hand on the elf’s shoulder as he struggled to stand.

Understanding dawned in her eyes, and she pulled Bilbo up to her waist, carrying him in a way that most parents carried their young children or perhaps toddlers. Bilbo was in fact very irritated at being carried like a child, but he knew it was the most logical form of travel. Suddenly aware of his exhaustion, the hobbit closed his eyes, only for a moment’s rest. He most certainly did not intend to fall asleep in the arms of a stranger.

When Bilbo awoke, the sun was low in the sky, and he was laid down in a large downy bed, thick comforter positioned over his chest, ending just at collarbone. Remembering where he was, and why he was there, he sat up, head spinning as he did so.

There was a large familiar hand on his shoulder, and he turned to see Gandalf, standing at his bedside with an uneasy smile.

“Why! Gandalf, is this there where you’ve run off to?” He sniped, smiling broadly, despite his sour tone.

Gandalf chuckled, although, his nervous expression did not falter or fade. He squeezed Bilbo’s shoulder, and stepped back from the bed, strangely tepid. Bilbo felt his grin slide off his face, and suddenly his heart was heavy, and his body weakened.

“I think it’s high time we visit the priestess don’t you?” Gandalf asked quietly.

Bilbo nodded sullenly, gradually feeling himself grow cold, from his heart, to the rest of his body. The wizard assisted him in sliding from the oversized bed, and Bilbo recalled that he’d been naked when he’d fallen asleep. He wondered who had dressed and washed him, as his skin was no longer covered in dirt and mud. Instead, it was soft and pink and dewy and fresh, quite like that of a young child’s or baby’s. Bilbo followed the wizard through the halls, and with a shock, he realized that the sun wasn’t setting like he thought, but rising.

“How long have I been asleep?” The hobbit asked, trying to recall the time of day it was when he’d woken in the forest.

“Two days and three nights.”

Bilbo was unsurprised. His wolf typically exhausted him, it was of no shock at this point that he would sleep for so long after a shift. The hobbit followed dutifully after Gandalf, his mind far away, though he couldn’t say where. He did that sometimes. Just left his mind and let it dawdle, though it was something of a problem when Lobelia payed a call and demanded to hear everything she’d just said and done during said call. Bilbo jolted abruptly from his empty thoughts, his mind going still at the sight of a small ash tree, with several sprigs of poisonous belladonna flower growing at the base. In the center of the tree, one could make out the shape of a face. Heart shaped, with laugh lines around the corners of wide inquisitive eyes, a faint smile, a small slightly upturned nose, a small and pouty mouth, the vague appearance of curls falling forwards. Bilbo paused at the sight, but drew himself away from it, following after the wizard’s towering form.

They only stopped once they reached a small building made up of some pale white stone with tall towers that spiraled to the sky. A quiet hum echoed from it, the quiet but steady song of elves emanating from the depths within. Gandalf stooped down to remove his shoes, and Bilbo nearly chuckled at the sight of the wizard’s dainty feet and ankles. Gandalf gave him a wink, like he’d known precisely why Bilbo was amused. Humming along to the low tune, Bilbo rolled up the long pants so they cuffed right in the middle of his calves, and washed his feet with the small bowl left to the side of the temple specifically for this purpose. Once his foot hair was neatly combed and his toes sparkling clean, he stepped inside the building, along with Gandalf.

Elves lingered along the pyres, their long hoods obscuring their faces as pale sunlight drifted from the rose glass windows, painting them in mysterious shades of reds and pinks. Bilbo felt nerves coil in his belly,and exhaled softly, trying to push out as much anxiety as he could. Gandalf gave him a knowing look, but Bilbo only shook his head and gave a small smile. They waited for a short moment, and an elf immediately appeared at their sides, pushing back their white hood to expose an ageless face.

The elf had dark black eyes, and long jet lashes that brushed against their cheekbones when they looked down and bowed to the pair. Their eyes flickered around Bilbo’s form, but did not settle on anything, and Bilbo was suddenly aware the elf was blind. Their lips were thin, but darkened to a purple with some form of paint or cosmetics. The face was angular, and the jawline rather prominent, though the most defining part of their face was their nose, which sloped downwards perfectly—in a slight curve. Bilbo found himself rather entranced by the hue of their skin, which was a deep brown that he had seen before (not all hobbits were fair of skin), but glowed with a bright golden shade. Bilbo had never seen a creature so beautiful, and the sight of them rendered him nearly breathless.

“This way,” was all the elf said, their voice musical and entrancing, as well as genderless.

They followed the elf down three hallways and up a curving flight of stairs, as well as down six more hallways, until they reached the center of the building.

The room was circular, and several arches led away from it, down hallways that Bilbo had trouble making out. In the center of the room, a pattern was drawn about the scrying bowl, which was made of obsidian. The room was bathed in a ethereal pale red light, which made the water of the scrying bowl the color of blood. At least, Bilbo assumed it to be water. He actually had no idea what liquid sat in the still waters.  

“Come, son of Belladonna,” The elf said, leading Bilbo over to the bowl.

Bilbo flinched at his mother’s name, his thoughts immediately filled of the sight of the small ash tree in the courtyard. The elf waited patiently for Bilbo, face refusing to show any sign of their emotion in regards to this. Bilbo exhaled and stood in front of the bowl.

“Look inside, Son of Belladonna, and see what lies beyond.”

Bilbo leaned on his toes, and stared deep inside of the waters, unaware of the elf’s quiet singing or the trancelike state he fell into. He slowly tipped forwards, and he had the sensation of falling into the red waters. He felt heavy, as if he was submerged by water, he opened his eyes, which he had been unaware of closing in the first place. He still felt heavy, weighted down by a lake perhaps, though he was standing on the grass, staring down at the sight of Thorin Oakenshield.

The dwarf quivered and wailed in his sleep, sweat pooling across his face, mouth open in a silent cry of agony. Dark coils were wrapped around him, and he thrashed in his sleep, whimpering for help.

Filled with pity for the dwarf, Bilbo reached for him, hand smoothing over his brow. Like a spell, the dwarf immediately stilled, his expression of pain fading. Bilbo sat at his side, moving to pull the dwarf into an embrace, or perhaps to shake him from his stupor, but he was suddenly wrenched away.

Bilbo gasped as he stood upright, like the first breath after a deep plunge. His lungs burned and his eyes ached, he held onto the sides of the bowl, panting for breath.

“What was that?” He panted, closing his eyes as he rested his flushed face against the frigid bowl.

“Neither the beginning nor the end.” The elf answered cryptically.

Bilbo nodded, knowing that was the most he was going to get. Curiously, the room was darker, and Gandalf was absent. He stood and turned from the elf and their bowl, hurrying towards the exit, without so much as a good-by. He sat in his room for an hour or so, trying to interpret what it was he’d seen, as well as the elf’s riddle.

Assuming that “lies beyond” meant what was beyond what Bilbo could see or understand, that meant he could’ve seen something that might happen, or maybe already did? But if it was neither the beginning nor the end, that must mean it couldn’t be the past or present. Maybe it was something that was happening right when he’d looked into the bowl. Or perhaps by that the elf had meant it would never happen, but a reflection of what could’ve happen, or what might’ve. But if that was so, why show it to him in the first place? It occurred to Bilbo that he was making this far more complex than it actually was, so in frustration he left his room, only to stumble across a steward, who was standing outside of his door, ready to knock.

“My lord Elrond has sent me to announce that supper is served and ready.”

Bilbo dimly nodded and followed the elf down the long twisting halls of Elrond’s home, stopping once they’d reached one of the many dining halls. The hobbit ate with vigor, though he was not enthusiastic about it in the least, still muddled over what had just occurred, he didn’t speak much to anyone. After an hour of sitting through the dull meal, the hobbit offered a half-hearted excuse and went to bed.

His next few days were boring, rather uneventful days that seemed to drag on forever. That wasn’t to say he wasn’t enjoying himself; he was enjoying himself quite thoroughly, but there was an energy bubbling up within him, one that would not pause for him to truly enjoy his visit. He rarely saw Gandalf, and when he did, the Wandering Wizard was incredibly cryptic and rambled on aimlessly about mundane topics. He refused to discuss what Bilbo had seen or what it had meant, or if he should go and try to find the company of dwarves, or if he should return home. Honestly, Bilbo had no idea why he was there to begin with, but really couldn’t bring himself to care.

One early morning, he’d awoken to Gandalf leaving, muttering about the bane of kings, without so much as a backward glance. Based off of his hurry, Bilbo was rather unsurprised to see the lady Galadriel there at the breakfast table. It was quite a strange experience, he’d always thought of Galadriel as some ethereal being that didn’t require for or drink the way the other peoples of Middle Earth did. For all he knew, she might not have needed to eat after all, but that was wishful thinking more than anything.

At certain times, Bilbo could actually feel the lady’s presence in his mind, heavy and peculiar, but also soothing—which was quite disturbing to think about for too long. More than once during her brief stay, she’d whispered to him that all would be revealed soon, and to trust in Mithrandir. Which of course Bilbo did, one didn’t go disobeying an elf as powerful as Galadriel, plus he’d known Gandalf his entire life, of course he trusted him, even if he didn’t like what the wizard was up to more often than not.

Soon afterwards, the lady left, and Bilbo’s stay once again became dull and tedious. He spent his afternoons in the gardens, lounged across a hammock and reading. He spent his evenings in the dining hall, bouncing his knee along to the soft tunes the elves played. He spent his late nights on the balcony of his room, smoking pipeweed and thinking nonsensical thoughts just for the sake of thinking them. His mornings often involved a warm bath, and wonderfully scented soaps and oils, and sometimes a good wank or two. Though life was peaceful in Rivendell, he found himself quite bored, and was beginning to long for travel again. Of all things.

Him, Bilbo Baggins, wanting to sleep on the hard ground and walk in the rain and run across fields. He really was his mother’s son after all.

Bilbo’s peace was disturbed once afternoon, in which he’d been dozing on a hammock, smoking from a pipe Elrond had gifted him, book in his lap. He was jolted awake by a commotion, which caused him to indelicately fall from the hammock and onto the garden’s stone walkway. Hip aching, the hobbit stood from his spot and dusted off his clothes, leaning over the edge of the stairway and into the courtyard. His mouth fell agape at the sight of Gandalf accompanied by Thorin’s company, and even Thorin himself, who was slumped against Dwalin.

Thorin looked disastrously sick, his face pale and gaut, expression tight in agony, sweat pouring down his brow. There were dark circles underneath his eyes, and his eyes—which had once been crystal clear sapphire pools of intellect, were dull and unfocused, the light from them completely gone. Bilbo’s heart clenched at the sight, and forgetting all decorum and hobbitish manners, he ran down the staircase and to the company, who all looked at him in shock. They all stared at him for a moment, doubtlessly taking in his clean appearance and elfish clothes, as well as his reddening cheeks. Twelve pairs of eyes roving over his form for what felt like an age, making the hobbit uncomfortably twitch and fidget.

“By my beard, Bilbo! You’re alive!” Bofur exclaimed, breaking the silence.

Bilbo, rather irked at this point, snapped, “Well of course I’m alive!”

Thankfully, the company took no offense at his poor temper, and several of them actually went forwards to embrace him. He checked his attitude after that, rather touched at their enthusiasm. His brightened mood darkened just as quickly though, when he glanced at Thorin, who had closed his eyes in pain. Bilbo glanced up the wizard, who only shook his head and patted him on the shoulder.

Bilbo looked on with worry as Thorin was lifted onto a gurney and carried away, Dwalin a steadfast presence at his side, Gandalf trailing behind them. A band of elves surrounded them all, clad in their strange white hooded cloaks.

Things were far more interesting with the dwarfs there, if by interesting one meant stressful. The dwarfs didn’t talk much of how their past few weeks had gone, and Bilbo didn’t ask. For the most part the dwarfs were disgusted and annoyed by the elves, despite how polite of a host Lord Elrond was, though he seemed as worried as everyone else. There were no mentions made of Thorin’s health, and inquiries of it were often ignored. Gandalf was tightlipped and would only announce that Thorin was receiving the help he needed. These words were of no comfort to anyone, as the wizard carefully spoke in riddles and statements that didn’t explain anything.

Bilbo spent most of his time with Bofur, Dori, Ori, Kíli, and sometimes Nori, who was actually a very polite dwarf, if one could like beyond his raunchiness. It came as something of a surprise for him to be approached by Fíli one evening, somber and quiet, eyes downcast.

“Bilbo, I know we aren’t exactly the closest of friends, or if you would consider us friends at all, but I’ve something to request of you.”

Bilbo opened his mouth to argue that he of course considered Fíli his friend, but realized that would quickly get them off track. Nodding, the hobbit scratched at his nose and waited for him to finish.

“Thorin is not well. You know as much. The elves, these healers don’t seem to be doing much.” Fíli paused here, eyebrows furrowed. “And I thought perhaps you might be able to. Do something I mean.”

Bilbo swallowed, and looked away. “I don’t know how I can be of much help. I’ve no extraordinary talents‒”

Fíli fiercely looked up. “What I am saying is that despite that everything that Thorin has done. That even though he only serves to be rude and embarrass you, he shines brighter when you’re around. And when you were gone?” Fíli shook his head, looking determinedly at Bilbo, face tight and stern. “Thorin is like you, Bilbo. I know what you both are.”

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**Author's Note:**

> Questions? Comments? Kudos? Compliments? Complaints?


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